Hiking, biking and climbing to Norway’s fantastic fjords

“The biggest surprise for most people is the distance,” said Henrik Lilleheim, the parking attendant at Øygardstøl, where the bus drops walkers first. “These are by no means ‘get out your car, snap the shot and be on your way’ kind of things,” he warned.

Although Henrik is there to help organise the vehicles, he actually serves a greater purpose: keeping an eye on current conditions and advising visitors accordingly, which he rather aptly does via his Facebook page. “I mentally tick people off as they set out and return,” said Henrik, “as well as advise them to put on extra clothes or sometimes not go at all, although they don’t always listen.”

He looked me up and down, from my woolly hat to my heavy-duty waterproof jacket and boots. “I think you’ll be ok,” he grinned, pulling out his phone to show me a photo of himself stood atop Kjeragbolten completely naked.

We were quiet on the way in, anticipation growing with each rise and fall of the terrain. When we reached the summit plateau and the giant cairn that marked the official top of Kjerag (the mountain, not the boulder), there was no one around but us. For a minute it was completely silent, then whoops of excitement from up ahead alerted us that the showstopping stone was nearby. We pushed on.

Walking back, the clouds thinned, revealing the township of Lysebotn far below – so deep is the valley that from October until late February or early March, sun never reaches it. Now it was illuminated in the dim glow of the afternoon light. Stood up here, surrounded by snow, it was like peering out of winter into another season.

“Do you think people would come here if there was no boulder at the top?” I asked Line. “Absolutely not,” she laughed. “People need a draw; it’s about getting that photo. But,” she said, looking around, “they really should…” From Øygardstøl a road of 27 hairpin bends weaves its way down to Lysebotn.

There, a few metres from the ferry port that would allow me to connect with a bus to my next stop in the morning, sat a walkers’ hostel. Dotted all around Norway, they offer simple dorm beds or private rooms, as well as good, hearty home-cooked meals.

That evening, sat with Line and Paul, we watched BASE jumpers leap from Kjerag as the sun set, eating stew and toasting the selfie-takers for bringing the bus to this fjord.

But it’s not just the walking trail that’s benefitted. Back at Preikestolen Fjellstue, increased demand has seen a new 27-room hut constructed for walkers. An eco-friendly affair, it mixes reclaimed wood with space-saving design quirks that wouldn’t be out of place in an IKEA catalogue.

Those attempting to do the trio of walks in three days wouldn’t have time to stop there, as the bus leaves in the afternoon for Trolltunga, but I treated myself to a stay. At dusk I took a stroll to a nearby lake where a giant wooden troll stares out to sea, then dined in the hut’s restaurant on local vegetables and fish from the fjord, all served on slate wedges.

The journey to Tyssedal, for Trolltunga, would take most of the next day, meaning a day off from walking. I worried that my legs would get itchy sat on transportation, but instead I was treated to a drive through prime fjordland, punctuated with thundering waterfalls, mirror-flat lakes lined with fir trees, and clapboard houses perched on tiny islands.

My destination was a small hotel just outside the larger town of Odda, where the following morning I met with my guide, Jostein Soldal of Trolltunga Active. “This area was hugely popular with Victorian tourists,” he said. “That’s actually what built up the town in the first place.”

As he spoke I was being fitted for a mountain bike and handed a climbing harness. Most opt to do the 10 hour there-and-back walk to reach Trolltunga. But not me. I was convinced that the real joy of Norway’s famous three selfie spots was the getting there, so I’d signed up for a group cycle and via ferrata climb to take me to the top.

We set out on a wide track that edged lake Ringedalsvatnet. I could feel the suspension bounce as the track became rough, and felt myself squeeze on the brakes involuntarily as little stones popped under my tyres. The biking required concentration, but the mountain scenery that surrounded us made it impossible – so much so that I had to do a skidding emergency stop when the bikes in front of me came to a sudden halt.

We left our wheels and followed a track up through the trees. Clambering over rocks, we reached the first of a series of metal ladder rungs drilled into the rock face, all heading vertically up.

“If you can climb a ladder, you can definitely climb this,” said Jostein as he demonstrated the correct way to clip onto the steel safety cable that ran alongside it. Via ferrata are fixed routes that allow non-climbers to ascend verticals that are usually only within the abilities of skilled mountaineers.

Despite my reservations, I found myself clinging to rocky overhangs and hauling myself up sheer rock faces. Every time it got a little too scary, I would hum the James Bond theme tune in my head while trying to ignore the drop beneath my feet.

Within minutes of topping out, we reached Trolltunga – where a queue had already formed to get the photo. Some sat right on the edge and dangled their feet, others pretended they were about to dive off, and two groups had stripped to take part in naked selfies (or “nakies” as they are known – they happen that regularly). As I watched the poses, Jostein laughed.

“You might not believe it, standing here now, but for a long time this area was forgotten. After the Victorians left, we fought hard to attract visitors. But over the last five years, mainly due to social media, people have been rediscovering this place, and numbers grow every year. We’re a bit like Angkor Wat or Petra: both were rediscovered by explorers, and now Trolltunga has been rediscovered too – this time by explorers carrying selfie sticks.”

As I walked away, packing my harness in my bag, I stopped far from the crowd to look at the opposite ridge and the endless peaks that seemed to rise wave-like beyond. It’s easy to dismiss these wonders as photo-stops only, but none of the three rocks here in Norway can be reached without putting in time, effort and hard work.

Like many before me, I gazed at the thick snow all around, the sun bursting through the clouds, and reasoned that I might have come for the photos, but I would leave with so much more than could ever be captured on camera.

Fly in to Stavanger and back from Bergen. Norwegian offers daily flights to both from London Gatwick, Birmingham and Edinburgh. British Airways offers daily flights from Heathrow; flight time is from 1.5 hours; prices start from £45 each way. A shuttle bus between the the cities and the three hikes is available from Tide Bus; prices from around 300NOK (£24). Car rental is available from both airports if preferred.

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Main Image: Jumping for a photo on Trolltunga (Neil S Price)